


No Words Could Ever Do

by saekhwa, scheherezhad



Category: Hustle Cat (Visual Novel)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Canon Character of Color, M/M, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 05:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16486877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/saekhwa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherezhad/pseuds/scheherezhad
Summary: "Why do any of us like what, or whom, we like? The culmination of a lifetime of prejudices and preferences? An ephemeral puff of fairy dust? The meddling of a higher power? Perhaps simply the infinitesimal chance of being in a certain place at a certain time and witnessing a singular moment that hopelessly endears another person to you?"





	No Words Could Ever Do

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Graves's birthday, my dear saekhwa and I are finally getting around to posting this piece we co-wrote several months ago. It was a ridiculously fun universe to play in. Many thanks to moriavis for the speedy last-minute beta late into the night so we could get this posted today.

Reese sighs deeply and slumps across the table of the booth at the back corner of the diner. The morning rush today was especially hellish, with hordes of students having hangover breakfasts after the first parties of the new school year. He's been on his feet non-stop for hours already, and he's not even halfway through his shift. One of the other servers called in, and Reese has to help cover part of her shift until the first closer arrives.

A plate thunks down in front of his head. "Eat."

He looks up and sees Mason staring down at him with that sort of dead expression she always seems to have. He hasn't learned to read it yet. She isn't much for conversation, and Reese hasn't wanted to push after he watched her shred one of last semester's busboys for bothering her too much in the kitchen while she was trying to work.

"Not long until the lunch crowd starts coming in. Be finished before then," she says when he doesn't move, and she turns to go back into the kitchen.

"Thanks," Reese manages before the door swings shut. He looks at what she put in front of him and finds a generous portion of French toast with bacon and eggs. It's probably more than he ate all day yesterday, and it looks amazing. He has the first forkful in his mouth before his stomach can even finish rumbling.

The brief break and solid meal do their share to restore Reese's energy, and he's taking his plate to the back when the bell on the door jingles.

"Be with you in just a second," he calls out. When he steps into the front again, one of his favorite customers is sitting at the end of the counter. He ducks his head and bites his lip for a second while he pulls his order pad and pen out of his apron pocket. "Morning."

Graves turns to Reese with a smile, his, "Good morning," as formal as the rest of him. 

He's not even looking at the menu today, opting to watch Reese instead. It nearly makes Reese fumble his pen. "What can I get for you?"

Graves's eye contact doesn't break as he hums, tapping one slim finger on the bar. "What would you recommend today?"

"Well, we've got the usual stuff," he says, knowing Graves has their standard vegetarian menu options memorized by now, "but Mason's doing portobello burgers today with some mushrooms from a local farm."

"An opportunity I dare not miss." 

Reese answers with a little laugh, nodding. "Anything else I can get you?"

Graves pauses, like he's actually weighing the question, but then he shakes his head. "Not at the moment. Thank you."

The door jingles again as Reese drops off Graves's order, and he swings back by with a glass of water for Graves before he goes to check on his new customers. They're an indecisive group of students, so he takes their drink orders and a request for chili cheese fries for the table while they decide. Graves subtly watches him; he's only able to ignore him through months of practice. It used to unsettle him, before he kind of got to know Graves; now it just makes him a little self-conscious.

When another big top comes in, Reese doesn't have time to think about Graves at all, rushing to keep drinks refilled, fetching condiments and extra everything and dealing with the general rabble of hungover college students. There's a reason Graves is one of Reese's favorites, and it's because when Reese finally swings back around with his order, Graves says thank you and talks about how divine the portobello burger looks. It's weird enough, but it's one more thing Reese has gotten used to, so he laughs and says, "Enjoy."

"Oh, I intend to," Graves says. 

For a wild sec, Reese thinks he's going to wink. He doesn't, so it leaves Reese making uncomfortable eye contact, waiting for it, before he smoothly says, "I'll get more water," and walks away to give himself a moment to breathe. It's just the lunch rush getting to him, and he's tired again, he tells himself. 

Excuse firmly in place, he refills Graves half empty glass and sees one of the big tops raising a hand to get his attention. 

"Alas. No rest for the wicked, it seems," Graves says.

A splash and a clatter ring out from one of the booths, someone's soda now on the floor. "Might be more justified if I had the time to be wicked," Reese mutters. "Let me know if you need anything else."

By the time he gets the soda replaced, the spill cleaned, and the next round of orders out, Graves is finished eating and looks ready for his check. Reese grabs his dishes and reaches for his order pad to give him his check.

"My compliments to the chef, as always," Graves says, offering his card before Reese can even set down the bill. One more quirky thing about Graves that he's used to. And a little envious of 'cause who wouldn't find it nice not to have to count every penny? "And your impeccable service." 

"I didn't really do that much," Reese says reflexively as he takes the card to the nearby register.

"Don't sell yourself short. I've often watched you keep the front end running almost singlehandedly. You are adept at handling unruly customers and smoothing over upsets. Your accuracy with orders is near flawless." Graves takes back his card and signs his receipt with a flourish. "You are a rare gem in a quite unforgiving setting."

Reese's face is roughly the temperature of the sun. He can't think of anything to say to that. "Th-thanks."

Graves stands and turns the back of his stool around neatly so that it sits parallel to the counter, like always, even though they swivel back on their own. "Until next time."

"Bye, Graves." Reese watches him walk out, and he shakes his head to clear it. He's even more off-balance than usual after this visit. A quick glance at the receipt before he shoves it in the register shows another extravagant tip. Graves always matches the cost of his meal, if not tipping over that. The food here is good, but not that good, and Reese hasn't figured out yet what Graves means by it.

He doesn't have time to wonder about it now, with another order up. Only four more hours to go.

~*~

Stumbling through the door of his apartment that evening is like abruptly being cut loose from dragging a cart full of rocks behind him all day. He wants nothing more than to slide down to the floor and close his eyes for a while, but he still has to eat and shower off the day's grime.

Reese decides to go for the shower first, get it over with before his body gives up for the night. He always regrets when he falls asleep stinking of food.

In the bedroom, he strips down and empties his pockets so he can toss his jeans in the laundry basket. When he digs out his wallet, something falls to the floor. He picks it up and knows immediately what's in his hand before he unfolds the paper.

' _You've had a hard day. Do something nice for yourself_ ,' the note reads in Graves's spidery handwriting. Inside is a crisply folded twenty.

It's not the first time Graves has done this. He must know magic or something, because Reese never catches him slipping it in his pocket. He really shouldn't accept it, but the times he's tried to bring it up, Graves has deflected and said something about "knowing one's true value." Tonight, Reese could practically kiss the gift horse on the mouth, because an extra twenty means he doesn't have to make dinner.

He orders takeout from the Indian place he can never afford anymore since his last roommate moved out, and takes his shower while he waits for it to arrive. 

The smell alone makes Reese sigh as he carries it to the kitchen, mouth watering with another heartfelt thanks to Graves. He wants this to last, so he portions out half of the rice, curry and naan and packs up the rest, sliding it into the fridge. He takes a big bite, almost moaning with how much he's missed this as he carries it to the living room, plopping on the couch. Since this evening magically turned into a treat yo self moment, Reese opens up his laptop and queues up his favorite romcom. 

~*~

Becca comes out of nowhere, cornering him just as he's about to grab his orders for table six. "Reese," she hisses. "Can you please, please, _please_ take my order to seventeen? The guy's been a grade A dick since he sat down."

Reese hands his head, sighs, but nods. "Yeah, sure. Take these to six."

"Thank you." She beams a smile and winks as she waltzes off. 

Reese takes a deep breath, straightens and pastes on his sunny customer service smile. 

When the guy finally, _finally_ leaves, Reese has upgraded him from dick to jackass to being too tired to deal with that level of crap. The guy doesn't even leave a ten percent tip, and Reese is fuming but can't duck out to the back for a break. He's so frustrated that he snaps his pen in two when he sees a party of six come in the door, but Becca intercepts them. She mouths "I've got this" over their heads as they take their seats, and Reese nods in thanks.

The pen is a loss, and it's left smears of bright blue on his hand even though it was almost out of ink. He ducks into the restroom to scrub off what he can, but the stain is still obvious. He takes a deep breath, breathes it out slow. His shift is almost over, he just has to make it through another hour. One hour.

Stepping out onto the floor again, relief floods through him when he sees Graves just taking a seat. Reese slides behind the counter and stops at the register to get a new pen so it doesn't look like he's doing exactly what he's doing and beelining for Graves's end of the counter.

"You're a little late today," Reese says in greeting.

"Unforeseen circumstances arose, I'm afraid, and I am utterly famished. What delights shall you tempt me with today?" Graves must be in a good mood despite his unforeseen circumstances, because he's being even weirder than usual. It should maybe bother Reese a little that he knows Graves's levels of weird based on his diction.

"Nothing too exciting, sorry. The mozzarella for the caprese pasta salad is a new brand we're trying, though. It's got a great flavor," Reese offers.

Graves smiles a little wider. "That sounds wonderful."

"Great, I'll get that in and bring you your water."

Reese gets things taken care of for Graves, then checks on his other customers and finds that most of his tables will be ready to leave soon. He makes one round to drop off their tickets, refills drinks for the tables that are still eating, makes a second round to pick up payments, and by the time he's on the return trip with change and cards, his order is up. He snags the plate from the window and slides it in front of Graves.

"Ah, what happened here?" Graves asks, catching Reese's hand before he can pull it back. His thumb traces over the remnants of ink and sends a zing of electricity up Reese's arm.

"J-just a busted pen. Accident." Shit, Reese was probably in middle school the last time a boy touching his hand got him this flustered. "It's nothing."

Graves lets go of him with a hum. "Perils of the trade, I suppose, if a minor one."

"Something like that," Reese says, curling his hand into a loose fist as if it will help him hold on to the sensation. "Um, enjoy."

"I'm sure I will. Your suggestions never steer me wrong."

"Yeah, um." Reese has got nothing to add, so he sticks with the safest response—smiling—and turns to check on his other tables. 

When he swings back around to check on Graves, he's mellow and in control. It lasts all of five seconds as he watches Graves dab his lips with the napkin before folding it with a hum. 

"Sheer perfection," Graves says. 

And it's silly, but for a second, it feels like Graves is talking about Reese and not the mozzarella.

"I'll, uh." Reese softly laughs as he absently rubs the back of his neck. "I'll let the chef know."

"Please do," Graves says with a nod, and tugs up his shirt sleeve, glancing at the watch adorning his slim wrist. "Your shift ends soon, does it not?"

"Yeah, but please take your time. Don't rush on my part."

Graves shakes his head. "Nonsense. The check please? So I may, at the very least, express my gratitude for your patience." 

Reese laughs again, nodding. "Sure thing." 

Graves, of course, leaves an excellent tip, and Reese closes out feeling a lot better. He's waving good-bye to Becca when he spins around and nearly runs right into Graves, whose hands wrap firm around Reese's arms to keep him steady. 

"S-sorry," Reese says. 

"The fault is entirely mine."

Reese blinks, heart sinking a second. "Is everything okay?"

His shoulders fall with relief at the sight of Graves's smile, and he straightens when Graves's hands fall away. 

"I wonder if I might trouble you for a moment of your time, in a less professional capacity?"

If Reese didn't know better, he would think Graves is actually nervous about something. He definitely knows that Becca is a gossip hound, though, and he doesn't want to get into whatever this is in front of her. "Sure? Maybe outside, though?"

"Of course," Graves agrees quickly. "Lead the way."

They slip out, and Reese turns to head down the block to the left. There's a tiny green space between two storefronts a little way down, a couple of benches set among a small bit of landscaping and a fountain that dampens the chaos of the city just a few steps away. Reese likes to stop here sometimes after work, if the weather is nice and he's not too exhausted. He takes a seat on one of the benches and sighs at the pleasure of being off of his feet. Graves sits next to him and takes a moment to look around.

"This is quite nice. I had no idea it was here."

"Yeah, I like to come here sometimes. It's pretty cool." Reese stares down at his hands, rubbing his thumb over the ink stains. "So, um, what's up?"

Graves turns in toward Reese and crosses his legs, resting his hands on his knee. "If it's not too forward of me, I would like to extend an invitation to you to accompany me to the opening of a show at the Barriston Gallery tomorrow night."

Reese's head jerks up, and he stares at Graves in surprise. He's not sure what he expected, but this was not it. "Why me?"

"On several occasions, I've seen you drawing during your breaks at work. I thought that perhaps you might share my interest in the arts and would enjoy the outing."

"I just doodle. I-I don't really know that much about art," Reese stammers. "Just took a couple of classes in high school."

Graves sighs softly and somehow sort of deflates even as his posture goes more rigid. "I apologize if my offer was unwelcome. I seem to have overstepped my bounds."

"No!" Reese winces at how desperate that sounds and backtracks with an eloquent, "ummm," while he struggles under Graves's steady gaze. "It's just I wasn't—This was—" Reese ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't have anything to wear?"

Graves's smile blooms, and Reese lowers his eyes again only to freeze when the tip of Graves's finger tucks under his chin and lifts his head. Reese's heart pounds so hard that he can feel it in his throat when he swallows. 

"May I make a proposal?" Graves offers, smile soft, his finger falling away. 

Reese's skin still prickles from the sensation of it as he nods. 

"Allow me to take you shopping. We'll find you something to wear that suits your standards—something to bring out these lovely green eyes of yours, I think," Graves says, lightly touching Reese's temple. "Are you off tomorrow? You often are on Thursdays."

Reese nods again, not sure he's processing what's happening right. That touch is so distracting.

"We can make a day of it, then, if you like. Lunch, a bit of shopping, the show—they'll have drinks and hors d'oeuvres, of course, but maybe a late dinner after?" Graves leans back and taps his chin in thought. "I'm sure I could secure a reservation at Badem on short notice—do you like Turkish food?"

"I've never had it?" Reese must have slipped in the diner and cracked his head open, because there's no way this is happening.

"We can have something else if you prefer, of course, but it is quite good."

"I—" _Have no idea what's happening right now_ is probably not a good reply. "Okay?" Reese realizes he's framed everything like a question, because he's confused by this entire… thing that's happening right now. With Graves. Who's still smiling. 

"Is 11 too early?" Graves hums as if he's decided it is. "An even noon then, shall we? You'll have the opportunity to indulge yourself by sleeping in."

Reese blinks and stares. 

Graves responds with a soft chuckle. "I've the sense I've taken you by surprise." He reaches into his pocket and pulls a slim card from an engraved metal case. "Think on it and give me a call when you wake. Regardless of your decision."

Reese takes the card. It _feels_ fancy, the flourish on the back artful and the lettering with Graves's contact info simple but elegant. Reese didn't even know business cards were still a thing. 

"'Til tomorrow then. I wait with bated breath." 

Graves stands and folds, and it takes a good three seconds for Reese to realize he's bowing. By then, Graves has wandered off, leaving Reese blinking blankly at the street, wondering if hallucinations are symptoms of a concussion. 'Cause there's no other explanation for this. 

He glances down at Graves's business card and just… laughs, soft and strained as he runs his thumb over it, surprised to feel a subtle embossing. He has got to talk to someone about this. He's going to say yes, because how could he not? But he also doesn't want to look like a complete idiot at a fancy art show, which for some wild reason Graves personally invited him to? 

Reese reaches for the easiest thing he can do right now. He stands and heads home. 

~*~

He goes through his evening routine on auto-pilot and ends up lying in bed, turning the business card over and over in his hands. He's kind of glad he has physical proof that something happened, because he still can't quite believe it's real. A handsome older man taking an interest in someone like him, wanting to whisk him off for shopping and art shows and dinner at places that need reservations? That's not real life. It's something that could only happen in one of his romance novels.

Or in Pretty Woman, except Reese isn't a prostitute. Yet? Does Graves expect sex? Shit.

No. No, Graves isn't like that. Probably. He's always been so nice. He just watches Reese, like, all the time. Has he been staring at Reese's ass? He's probably been staring at Reese's ass. Not that sex with Graves would exactly be a hardship—he is very handsome, and Reese has maybe thought about it once or twice before—but he doesn't want it to be a _transaction_.

So aside from that issue, it's a lot like one of his books. Which is why he is not calling his mom. He'd normally talk to her about something this big and confusing, because she's good at helping him sort out the mess in his head. But hashing it all out over the phone will definitely take more minutes than he's got left on his card, and honestly… he doesn't want her to be the voice of reason right now. He doesn't want confirmation that it's all too good to be true. He just wants one day where he can believe he's being swept off his feet into some torrid affair, before he has to wake up and go back to his real life.

With that decided, he grabs his phone, starting and deleting several texts before he finally decides to just send, _Look forward to seeing you tomorrow_. 

There. Not so hard at all. 

~*~

First thing Reese does when he wakes up groggy at—No way it's 6 in the morning right now. He glares at his phone, but there's nothing from Graves. 

Reese flops onto his bed again and falls asleep. He wakes up at 9, which is more reasonable, but still nothing from Graves. Did Reese confuse the dates? Maybe Graves meant next Thursday? Or Graves has a life and isn't glued to his phone 24/7. 

With a groan, Reese decides he can snatch a couple more hours. When he wakes up and it's five 'til 11, he bites his bottom lip. 

Did Graves decide he wasn't worth the hassle? Maybe he changed his mind about the whole thing, and God, Reese feels like an idiot as he shoves a hand into his hair and of course snags a knot. 

He is _not_ going to be one of those people who hovers over his phone. So he slides out of bed. 

It's in the shower, while he's conditioning his hair, that it hits him. Graves said _call_. Reese immediately groans. Graves is probably one of those older guys that believes in things like using the phone for talking. 

Reese is all the more grateful he didn't call his mom as he hops out of the shower, skidding down the hall to snatch his phone off the bed. He'll just have to keep this short.

His heart beats so fast that he doesn't think he can do this. Taking a deep breath, he hits the call button and freezes at Graves's formal, "Good afternoon."

"Uh." Reese slaps his forehead. "Hi. This is Reese?"

"Reese." Graves says it like a sigh.

Reese shakes his head so he doesn't get distracted. "I'd love to join you if the offer's still open? Sorry for calling so late. I texted you first and I don't have a lot of minutes so, uh. Just a warning if the call suddenly drops."

Graves hums. "Then for expediency's sake, will you provide your address first?" 

"Yeah, sure. Of course." 

Graves faithfully repeats it for Reese's confirmation, the call ending more quickly than Reese thought it would. But he had warned Graves about his minutes. 

Still, it leaves him stunned. This is happening. It's really happening. He stares down at his phone for a minute before it hits him that _this is happening_ , and he barely has half an hour to finish getting ready. He doesn't even know what to wear.

He hurries back to the bathroom to get the conditioner out of his hair, then dries off at lightning speed on his way back to his room. He flicks through his closet with a critical eye. Graves has seen him at work constantly for months, so it's not like he doesn't know what Reese looks like on average. It's not a date, so he shouldn't look like he's trying to too hard to impress, but he should go a step up from his usual t-shirts and old jeans with the hems walked off.

Reese grabs one of his only decent pairs of pants, designer dark grey skinnies he scored for a couple of bucks at the thrift shop but rarely wears because they feel kind of showy, and considers his options for tops while he shimmies into them. He has maybe three shirts that would look okay with this. He rules out the button-front first. It's white, and he knows he will absolutely drop something on himself if he wears it. That leaves a dark red spring-weight sweater and a fitted black and green baseball tee.

After a minute of deliberation, he grabs the tee. It makes his eyes look greener, and Graves did compliment them yesterday. No sooner than he yanks it over his head, there's a knock on his door. Right. Of course Graves would be early. He dashes into the living room and tries not to sound too breathless when he opens the door.

"Graves, hey. I'm running a little behind," he says, letting Graves in. "Just need to put on some shoes, and I should be good to go."

"Don't rush on my account. I'm a bit earlier than intended, as traffic was more cooperative today than I'm accustomed to." Graves takes a seat on the dingy couch. "Please, do take your time."

Reese heads back into the bedroom. "No, it's cool, I'll be ready in a sec." He drags on a pair of low-cut black socks and shoves his feet into a pair of black suede Oxfords that are maybe a notch too nice for the rest of his outfit, but his other choice is his ugly service industry work shoes, so. With one last glance in the mirror and a quick fluff of his hair, he deems himself passable. Keys and wallet go in his pockets on one side, phone on the other.

He takes a breath and steps out to let Graves know he's ready, only to find him browsing the small stack of romances sitting on the end table by the couch. Reese had forgotten he left them there, a few of his favorite comfort reads. It's a little embarrassing, but at least it's not the favorites he leaves by the bed.

"We can go," he says, mostly hitting the casual tone he was aiming for.

"Excellent." Graves puts the books down and stands, straightening the line of his trousers. "What would you like to eat for lunch?"

That brings Reese up short as he reaches for the door. He'd figured Graves already had something in mind. "Oh. Um, anything is fine? I'm not picky."

"If you truly have no preferences, I do have a few options in mind. But I want to know what you like," Graves says, more firmly.

"Uh." Reese scrambles to think of something on the spot while Graves stares at him like they have all the time in the world, like he's willing to stand here and wait. 

Reese tries to think of what he likes versus what he eats. He ate the rest of his leftover curry yesterday, but also… Reese bites his bottom lip. Technically Graves paid for that meal and he can't assume Graves will pay for lunch, so he's right back to where he started. What can he afford?

"Sandwiches?" Reese hedges.

Graves's lips curl into a smile that kind of makes Reese duck his head to avoid staring at it head on. 

"Reese." Simple, soft.

It immediately draws Reese's attention back up. 

"What do you _like_?"

Reese blinks, feeling a hot flush crawl up his cheeks. It was a normal, everyday question that Graves obviously didn't mean in anything but a 'get to know you' way and not. The other thing. That momentarily stalls Reese's brain. 

"Sushi," Reese says, and coughs into his fist, finally walking out the door he held open all this time. "Um. Indian." He locks up when Graves joins him in the hall. "I like tacos. Pasta. I'm really not picky. I like trying new things?" Reese glances at Graves when he says the last part and wishes he hadn't, jogging down the stairs when the problem is where his thoughts keep going. He pauses to hold open the door for Graves. "What do you like?" 

Graves hums, and the brush of his arm against Reese's _has_ to be an accident as he says, "A gentleman." He extends his arm. "My car is this way." They walk toward a row of cars and Reese thinks Graves forgot the question or doesn't want to answer. Or maybe he was as caught off guard as Reese was. 

They've barely taken two steps when Graves finally says, "I find myself reaching for the simple things. I'm afraid I haven't cultivated the culinary skills that I admire."

Reese grins. "Guess that's why I see you so often huh?" 

"I'm there as much for you as for the delightful meals," Graves says, opening the door to his car. 

Reese does not hit his head on the frame of the car as he gets in, but it's a near thing. Did Graves really just? He sinks into the leather seat and fastens his seat belt as Graves shuts the door and walks around to the driver's side. People don't just _say_ things like that.

"Why me, though?" he asks once Graves has pulled out onto the road. "You keep saying things like that, and I just don't—I just don't understand _why_?"

Graves makes a thoughtful noise. "I don't suppose any answer I could give you would truly satisfy you. Why do any of us like what, or whom, we like? The culmination of a lifetime of prejudices and preferences? An ephemeral puff of fairy dust? The meddling of a higher power? Perhaps simply the infinitesimal chance of being in a certain place at a certain time and witnessing a singular moment that hopelessly endears another person to you?"

Reese blinks. What. the fuck. "Oh my god. You are the actual worst."

And then he's laughing. His eyes water, and his sides hurt, and he can't stop, because _who the hell talks like that_? Graves fucking Serling, apparently. Graves, who is smiling at the road like that's the best thing anyone has ever said to him, and who maybe has some weird cosmic connection to a kid with a shitty food service job and a high school diploma. Maybe he could've had that connection with the girl at the coffee shop or the boy at the florist's, or a road construction worker. Who really knows? But right here, right now, fate has given him to Reese, and they're going to have sushi for lunch.

Graves parallel parks neatly in front of the restaurant and gives Reese a minute to regain his composure before they get out.

Before Graves can even ask, Reese asks the hostess to seat them at the conveyor belt. He has the decency to glance at Graves to make sure it's okay, and Graves gives that small, almost imperceptible nod. Reese plops himself down, and since he was serious about not being picky, grabs the first thing that goes around. 

He moans with the first bite—it's that good. And then almost chokes, because how embarrassing is it to make sex noises over food sitting next to someone he's kind of sort of attracted to?

And of course Graves notices. And of course Graves says, "Please don't restrain yourself on my account," as he reaches for his own plate. "These are the simple pleasures I do so enjoy." 

Reese laughs, shaking his head. "Okay, so you like good food. Making ridiculous statements." He enjoys another bite, pausing as he considers Graves in all his Graves-ness. "Art. What else does Graves Serling like?"

Graves hums, setting down his chopsticks, expression thoughtful. "A great many things. The sunrise and its setting. A relaxing stroll around the park. Captivating company." He meets Reese's gaze, smile small, making it all the more clear that it's Reese's company he finds so interesting. "Certainly an obvious list, but all true, I assure you."

Reese has to look away and stares hard at the sushi selection rolling by as if that'll stop the flustered heat rising to his cheeks again. 

"I believe you'll enjoy this," Graves says. 

Instead of waiting for the plate to reach him, he sets a hand on Reese's wrist, grip loose but hot against Reese's skin as he rises enough to reach for the plate. Reese's brain short circuits, and he stares, even though Graves only touched him for a second. Maybe two? Long enough that Reese can't get it out of his head. 

Reese shoves the sushi roll into his mouth, nodding until he swallows it down. "That was great. You, uh." He pushes the plate closer to Graves. "Want to try it?"

Graves smiles like he was waiting for that invitation and picks up his chopsticks. He hums, eyes closing like he's savoring it, and it gives Reese the perfect chance to stare. He doesn't often get the opportunity to just _look_ at Graves. He feels like he's always moving, from table to table to the kitchen to the register, rarely afforded the chance to stop.

Now he can take in the grey coming in at Graves's temples, the faint wrinkles beginning to settle in the corners of his eyes and on his forehead, his thinner upper lip against the fuller curve of the lower one, those intense, mismatched eyes—oh. He's been caught, but Graves doesn't seem to mind at all.

"You've had your turn," Graves says, propping his chin in his hand, "so it must be mine. What does Reese like? Art, literature, adventurous dining. What else?"

Reese laughs, mostly at the fact that Graves actually called his trashy romance novels 'literature.' "Razdan." He laughs again as he says, "Reese Razdan." 

Graves's face brightens with his smile. "My question still stands. What does Reese Razdan like?"

Reese looks away, glad the conveyor belt keeps offering a convenient excuse. "I dunno. Art, _literature_." He slides a look at Graves like it's already become their inside joke. "Adventurous dining. That about covers it."

"How enigmatic," Graves says. "Ah, but I do enjoy a good mystery. Revealing the obscure. Unveiling the truth." He pauses, thoughtful again, his smile small, almost private. "Much like art. I find one must be as eager for the journey as the discovery." He shakes his head, and his attention zeroes in on Reese again. "I know myself, but you…" 

Reese swallows, willing to wait out the silence, because there's a lot that can fill in the gaps, and with the way Graves is staring, he's pretty sure there's more Graves has to say. 

"What is your artistic process?"

Reese doesn't even think of himself as a capital A artist. He doodles in his down time. No one's even really seen his stuff. 

"I, uh." Reese laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wouldn't call it a 'process' exactly. I just look at stuff and sort of…" He shrugs. "Sketch it out. Just pen and notebook paper." 

His moms have always encouraged his art, even though he's never been very comfortable showing it, but parents are kind of obligated to do stuff like that. By high school, his effort had at least gotten him passing grades in class. His teacher had even tried to get him to enter some of his assignments in a local competition, but that was also the year Mr Chisholm got arrested for possession, so Reese doesn't put much stock in it. Drawing is just a thing he does to pass time or clear his head.

He toys with the pile of ginger on the dish in front of him.

"Please forgive me," Graves says. "I've committed an appalling faux pas. The only one worse is what inspires you." He softly laughs, pulling another plate from the conveyor belt only to set it in front of Reese and whisk away the empty plate. "Where does your eye most often turn? What sketches fill that notebook of yours?" 

Reese shrugs and dips a piece of the new roll in his soy sauce. "Nothing special. Just stuff around me."

"You favor still life, then?"

"I guess you could call it that." 'Still life' seems too formal for some scribbles of napkin holders and salt shakers. He chews his sushi slowly and glances up at Graves, who looks enthralled. He quickly looks back down. "It's really not that impressive."

Graves doesn't look convinced, but he finally drops the subject. He reaches for a plate of his own this time, and the rest of the meal passes in companionable silence. Once Reese spies a few desserts starting to come around, he perks up and studies the offerings intently on the little menu card at the side of their table. He's intrigued by a green pastry topped with abundant squiggles of icing, which the description says is a matcha Mont Blanc cake with red bean filling.

He looks back up at the conveyor just in time to see one slip past his reach. A small sound of disappointment slips out, but Graves tracks his gaze and turns to pluck the plate from the line with his longer reach. He sets it in front of Reese with a smile.

"Just in time, hm?"

"Yeah. Thank you. This one just looks, um, it looks really good."

Graves takes a more modest egg custard tart for himself. "Are you fond of sweets?"

Reese drags his fork through the mound of icing. "Kind of? I don't eat much candy. We didn't really have it around the house when I was a kid. I really love cakes and pastries and puddings, though." He takes a bite of his cake and lets out another overly sexual moan. It's _so good_ but this is mortifying. Has he always been this weird about food? He's never noticed before. "Wh-what about you?" he asks, hoping to deflect Graves's attention.

"I'm afraid I have a terrible sweet tooth," Graves admits, "though my preferences often run toward more… esoteric forms of sweetness. It can be difficult to restrain myself, at times."

The look that Graves gives him says he's not just talking about bingeing on Oreos. Reese shoves another bite of cake in his mouth.

It doesn't take long for them to finish their desserts, as reserved as the portions are. Graves checks his watch when he sets his own plate aside, and he requests the bill from the server. Reese shifts uncomfortably in his seat when Graves tells her to put it on one ticket.

"I can pay for mine," he protests. He can, it'll just mean a little more rice than usual for a while. But Graves shakes his head.

"I've invited you out and you have graciously deigned to gift me with a great deal of your precious free time. Paying your way is the very least I can do." He raises a hand before Reese can open his mouth again. "And please, don't worry yourself with thoughts of paying me back. The only repayment I ask is that you enjoy yourself."

Reese slumps back in the chair and watches Graves slip his card into the tray that the server brings back. She hurries off and returns in a flash with their receipt, and Graves thanks her. He writes in the tip—just as generous here as he is at the diner, if Reese is reading that right—and signs with his usual flourish.

"Well, shall we?" he asks, standing and extending a hand to Reese.

Reese takes it with a faint smile and allows Graves to help him up. They make their way out to the car again, and the plush seat is so comfortable Reese is half tempted to take a nap. He slept all morning, though, and they still have things to do, so he straightens in the seat and stares out the window, curious where Graves is going to take him. They pass store after store before Graves finally parks. 

The store they enter is barely noticeable from the street, crammed between a bakery and what looks like an antique shop. A tiny bell jingles when Graves opens the door and gestures for Reese to step inside. 

Reese freezes. This is definitely one of those places that's too nice. He glances at one of the suits on display in a rich navy blue and… He can't afford anything here, much less expect Graves to pay for him, no matter what Graves said earlier. 

He jumps when Graves's hand rests on his shoulder. Graves immediately pulls away, holding up both hands. 

"My apologies," he says. 

"N-No, it's fine. Um. Are you picking up your clothes from here?"

Graves nods and gestures at the nice suits on display. "And find something to your tastes, I hope."

Reese shifts his weight, glancing around again, about to argue there's no way in hell he and Graves shop at the same store, because Graves is a giant and Reese is a foot shorter. But there's nothing wrong in looking. He window shops all the time, so he slowly nods, following Graves to the counter. 

The young woman there greets him with a bright, "Mr. Serling, hi! Your order's in the back, and dad probably wants to say hi, too. Let me get him."

Graves nods and turns, taking a step toward Reese. "Please. Look around. I'll only be a moment."

"Yeah, okay," Reese says, nodding. He walks to the far end of the shop, which isn't all that far for a shop like this, but he doesn't want to hover _and_ this gives him the perfect chance to peek at the price tag. 

He flicks through some pants—and god, they feel _amazing_ from just a skim of his palm against the fabric—and just as he expected, his eyes bulge at the sight of all those numbers and he makes one of those strangled noises that's embarrassing, because of course Graves notices. 

"Are you all right, Reese?"

Reese coughs into his fist. "Yep! Uh, something—" He points to his throat and coughs again. 

Graves frowns but nods when Reese does enough waving to reassure him and then ducks behind another set of racks. He covers his face and takes three deep breaths. Looking is fine. He's allowed to look. 

So he drops his hands and touches the sleeve of a wine-red blazer with silver pinstripes. It feels like something he'd see on the red carpet. He glances around and Graves is still chatting with the owner and his daughter, so he continues idly looking through stuff made for very tall people. That small fact makes it easier to wander and admire the craftsmanship of all the clothes. 

"Find anything you like?" Graves asks, unexpectedly right behind Reese. 

Reese's heart slams into his chest, and he flails, jumping back. "You," he says, poking Graves's arm, "are dangerous."

"It seems I must beg your forgiveness again," Graves says, hand pressed to his chest as he gives a slight bow.

Reese laughs off the fright, glancing down and staring in confusion at Graves's empty hands. "So where to next?" 

Graves frowns. "Did you not find anything to your liking?"

"I like all of it," Reese laughs. "But nothing is going to fit and…" He shrugs, thinking up a million more reasons. 

Graves stares at Reese and then nods. "I've asked much of you today, but will you indulge me again?" 

Reese blinks. "Okay?"

Graves smiles, and Reese probably should've asked some questions. Too late now as Graves guides him through the store with a gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling several pieces that he holds up to Reese's body and either accepts or discards with the same thoughtful hum. 

"Will you please try these on? And if you like them, perhaps allow me the opportunity to see you in them?" 

"This is—" Reese laughs and shakes his head. "Okay, sure." 

Once he's sealed inside the dressing room, it takes everything not to look at the price tags or quietly lose his shit. With a deep breath, Reese strips off his shirt and pants and tries on the first set—charcoal pants and a silky-feeling button up that's a jewel green. It all feels like heaven against his skin, but it's the same problem he has any time he tries on clothes. He looks like he's drowning in them, hands swallowed by the sleeves and his feet hidden somewhere in a pool of fabric. He turns, expecting to see himself in a mirror, but of course they're all outside. He scrubs a hand down his face and jerks open the door. 

"I don't think we can shop at the same store," he says, holding up one arm so he can wave a floppy sleeve in Graves's direction. 

Graves plucks it up with a chuckle but releases it to make a slow circuit around Reese. 

"Luca is an exceptional tailor, and he's agreed to make any modifications needed. This green is lovely on you."

"Is there even enough time to do that much alteration? It's already after one, and when does this show start? Seven or eight?" It seems impossible that something this oversized could be made to fit him in the first place, much less in a handful of hours.

"As I said, Luca is exceptional, and Jeanette takes well after him. Everything will be finished on time."

Although he can't stop the frown that creases his brow, Reese nods and retreats into the fitting room to try on another outfit. Graves really picked a range of cuts, styles, and colors, but none of them _fit_. Reese walks out for Graves's inspection anyway, somehow managing to not fidget when Graves prowls around him or jump when Graves's fingertips graze his shoulder or chest or once, right at his hip. 

"Um," Reese says after modeling the fourth outfit. "Is there something specific you're looking for? 'Cause uh." He flaps the sleeves, wanting to say more but not sure what exactly. That he has no idea how formal an art show is? Will it even matter? Because when will Reese ever wear this tailored suit again? 

He's pulled from his thoughts when Graves's fingertips smooth over his shoulders. 

"I was hoping to discover your preferences," Graves says. "But I suppose in this, too, you aren't picky."

Reese ducks his head but can feel his cheeks heat. "I just… don't know what I'm doing? I don't go to fancy art events. Or fancy anything, really."

"Then I shall endeavor to invite you to more." 

Reese stares at him, wide-eyed, but Graves just smiles, walking past him into the dressing room and pulling out the clothes. 

"If you'll allow me?" Graves says, raising the clothes. 

"Yeah, uh, sure. Whatever. Do you want this, too?" 

The way Graves looks at him—it's one of those slow motion, lingering stares that makes Reese's mouth go dry. He has to be imagining it, but Graves's eyes meet his and… 

"No. Thank you." Graves smiles and pats the clothes draped over his arm with a thoughtful hum. "If you'll give me a moment to decide?"

Reese blinks and flaps his hands in Graves's direction. "Yeah. Okay. I'll—" He jabs what's supposed to be his thumb toward the fitting room, but it ends up being the whole sleeve. He ducks inside, locks the door, and bangs his forehead against it. 

He freezes, but Graves doesn't ask if he's all right, so he feels okay dropping onto the fabric-covered bench. This… 

Reese's thoughts are interrupted by the rap of Graves's knuckles on the door, and he jerks upright. "I'm decent."

Graves's chuckles, and Reese has no idea how to interpret the low, husky sound of it. "I've chosen an ensemble that, I believe, you'll admire. I'm confident you'll look dashing. Once we've made the appropriate modifications, of course." 

Reese laughs, and it helps ease the uncomfortable, tight feeling that was starting to squeeze his chest. He opens the door and grins up at Graves, who holds up—Reese's eyes widen at the sight of it, and he tentatively reaches for it only for Graves to drape it across his arms. 

"Thank you for indulging me," Graves says. 

Reese weakly laughs. "I—" He shakes his head, swallows, and retreats into the dressing room. 

The pants and blazer are a forest green that's… Reese stares at it and just _cannot_ believe this is happening to him right now. He blows out a breath and puts it all on. It doesn't fit. He's afraid to walk out and look at himself in the mirror, because this resembles a Cinderella moment and Reese is wondering if he needs to rush back home before midnight. 

He takes another breath and walks out. Graves's gaze intensifies, and it makes Reese's heart jump. 

"Absolutely stunning," Graves says. 

It's so sincere that Reese flaps his arms just to break the tension with flailing fabric. 

Graves laughs, so he must have succeeded. "If you'll stand over here, please," Graves says, gesturing to a raised dais in front of a half circle of mirrors. 

Luca appears behind him with a pin cushion strapped to his wrist and a tape measure in hand. "Stand straight please, sir."

Reese draws himself up a little more, and Luca prods him here and there with clinical touches until Reese's posture is to his satisfaction. Once he unfurls the tape measure, things move much more quickly than Reese expected. It barely seems like he could have time to read any numbers as he moves the tape from one body part to another. He must be getting what he needs out of it, though, because he steps back and jots a few notes onto a notepad next to the fitting room.

"Hold still, please," Luca says in a tone that definitely means 'do not move unless I move you' as he pulls a few pins from the pin cushion.

This process takes longer, and involves lots of pulling and folding and straightening of fabric before he places pins. And there are a lot of pins. At the hems of the pants, the shoulders and cuffs of the jacket, and somewhere in the back that he can't see. Reese is half scared he's going to sneeze and stab himself. It doesn't help that he can see Graves in the mirror, intently watching the entire process.

When it's finally over, Luca helps Reese out of the jacket and shoos him to the fitting room to take off the pants. He removes them gingerly, laying them on the bench and putting his own pants back on while Graves and Luca talk in low voices outside. Slipping his shoes on gives him a minute to take a couple of deep breaths, and he's mostly composed when he opens the door. Luca takes the pants from him and vanishes into the back. 

"I believe we're done here for the moment," Graves says, ushering Reese toward the door. "We do have one more necessary errand—ah, goodbye, Jeanette!"

"Bye, Mr Serling! We'll see you in a while." Jeanette waves at them from the desk.

Reese steps out the door and tucks his hands in his pockets. "What else is there to do?"

"I did intend to stop by another of my favorite shops to find some new shoes to match your suit. It's a pleasant walk from here, if you don't mind."

"Sure. I'm used to being on my feet all day. Get kind of antsy if I sit around too much," Reese agrees with a shrug. He can deal with shoes. At least he knows he can find shoes that fit, even if Graves's kind are probably going to make him choke at the prices again.

The walk is pleasant, though, sunny weather with that slight breeze that makes Reese sigh. He's never been on this side of town—no surprise there—so he takes in as much of it as he can, admiring the awnings and boutique aesthetic, the metal scrollwork benches. 

"And here we are," Graves says, opening the shop door. 

It smells expensive, but Reese walks in anyway, gaze darting toward the different shoes. 

"Would you like to peruse the selections or will you indulge me in this, too?" Graves asks. 

"Both?" Reese says, glancing up at him. 

Graves hums, nodding. "If I may accompany you?"

Reese can't help but laugh. First, because it's a small store. Second, because he's not surprised at all that Graves would still ask. He ducks his head in a nod and almost offers up his arm, but with the way his heart suddenly jackhammers, he decides he's not ready to make something a little more serious a sarcastic gesture. 

They make a circuit of the store, Graves a quiet, looming presence next to Reese while he looks at a few shoes, admiring some of the brogue detailing on a couple of them. Reese sneakily tries to get a look at Graves's feet, see if they're the same size so at least the shoes Graves intends to buy can get more use. They're just going to languish in Reese's closet after this. 

Once he's had his fill and somehow managed not to look at the price tags—Reese didn't even see any, which makes him more anxious about this—he takes a seat in one of the plush chairs. 

"Okay, I'm ready," he says, and kicks his legs out, knocking his feet together as he waits for Graves to make his choice. 

What he doesn't expect is for Graves to kneel with three pairs of shoes. Much less to ask, "May I?" Even as he's reaching for Reese's ankle. 

Reese nods, unable to form words around the lump in his throat. 

Graves's touch is gingerly when he lifts Reese's foot, slipping off his shoe, palm sliding down to cup the heel of Reese's foot. 

"Uh," Reese weakly says. 

Graves responds with a smile, as if he has no idea how this may or may not—is definitely—affecting Reese right now. Graves somehow turns tying shoelaces into a dramatic flourish. 

"Do you like these?" he asks, considering them with a long look, rising to his feet to get a different angle. 

"Yeah?" Reese stands, because it gives him something to do. He can't believe Graves knelt and put on his shoes for him. He walks toward the opposite wall, trying to imagine the suit and these shoes. He should say these are fine, so Graves can make his outrageous purchase and they can go do other things. Sit outside with coffee or something. But Graves did pick two other pairs. Is it rude if Reese doesn't at least try them on? He appreciates Graves's thoughtfulness in all of this, but… 

Reese keeps walking while he overthinks it until he rushes back to his chair and plops down, unlacing the shoes himself. Still doesn't stop Graves from kneeling again, grasping his ankle to remove this pair and slip on the new pair with a hum. 

"Not to bias you, but these are lovely," Graves says, the corner of his mouth tipped in a smile. 

When he leans back, Reese stands with a nervous laugh. "I don't think you've picked anything that's not 'lovely.'"

There's something about the way Graves stares at him that—Nope, Reese has to be imagining it, because all of this is… How many times has he dreamed about a scenario just like this? Inserting himself into his books and romcoms. Shaking his head, Reese stands to make another slow walk of the store before he returns to the chair, where Graves once again removes the shoes and fits Reese into a new pair.

When he gets up to test this pair, Reese feels a noticeable difference in them to the first two. The shape of them is almost identical to the others, but something about these feels like they fit him better. He does his circuit and sits down again.

"We'll take these, then," Graves says decisively to the employee Reese has barely noticed hovering in the background.

Reese goes red as Graves removes the shoes, suddenly very aware of the fact that someone else has been watching all of this. Some stranger has watched Graves being weird, and watched Reese being weird about Graves being weird, and who knows what the guy is thinking about them right now. Reese grabs his own shoes and shoves them on quickly while Graves is handing the new pair to the employee.

Graves turns back to him with a look of alarm. "Are you all right?"

"I'm just feeling a little… weird," Reese says, yanking at his laces. "I, um, I'm gonna go get some air."

"Of course," Graves says. His face is still uncertain. "I'll be finished momentarily."

As soon as Graves stands up and moves back, Reese is up from his chair and very carefully not running out of the shop. He walks down the block a little way until he finds a shallow recess in the space between two stores, and he sinks back into it. Slow breath in, slower out. Reese closes his eyes and puts all his focus on his breathing for a minute to let some of the chaos in his head settle.

This whole situation is just overwhelming. He'd be uncomfortable with anyone spending this much money on him out of the blue, but the thing that bothers him the most is not knowing _why_ Graves is doing this. He can't figure out what Graves wants from him, what he's getting out of it.

Footsteps approach, and Reese opens his eyes to see Graves in front of him with a bag in hand and a worried expression.

"Reese, I believe I owe you an apology. I seem to have upset you, and I regret causing you distress. I had intended for today to be… an enjoyable outing, but it appears I misjudged my course of action, to your detriment. I'll understand if you wish to end things here."

"That's… that's not what I want. I think? I just…"

"If there is anything I can do to rectify the situation, I will do it. Please."

"Maybe…" Reese rubs the back of his neck, shifting from foot to foot, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "I dunno. Maybe somewhere to just sit and chill? Tea or something?" He darts a look at Graves. "My treat. Don't go wild or anything," he adds with a soft laugh. "But…" He nods. "Yeah. That'd help right now."

"Of course," Graves says, smile tentative as he searches Reese's face. "Do you have someplace in mind?"

Shit. Reese shakes his head. "I could look something up? But you'd probably know what's close by."

Graves nods. "I must confess that I do. The gentleman there makes the most exquisite cappuccino, and the pastries there are…" 

The way he sighs makes Reese laugh, even though he's not a fan of coffee. He nods anyway 'cause it'll be nice to sit for a minute like normal people. "Okay, let's go." 

It's another short walk to a quaint local spot. The moment Graves opens the door, Reese can understand why it's probably one of his favorites. The smell alone draws him straight to the display case. It's not just pastries but slices of cake—tiramisu, some decadent chocolate layered cake, raspberry cheesecake, lemon tarts.

"Landry," Graves greets, his voice warm. 

Reese glances up. And up. To a guy who's nearly as tall as Graves. 

"Hey, Graves. The usual?"

Graves presses a hand to his chest. "Am I so predictable?"

Landry laughs. "Kinda. Anything else I can get you?"

Graves extends a hand to Reese, who blinks and grabs for the drink menu on the counter. "I guess the… ?" He glances at a few of the teas. A chai sounds really nice about now, but can he trust it? "Root beer please. And…" He points at the display case, walking back toward it. "The chocolate cake."

"Sure thing. Anything else?"

Reese looks at Graves. "Do you want anything?"

Graves contemplates the case a moment. "An almond croissant please."

Landry rings up their order, and Reese pays in cash, dropping the change and an extra dollar into the tip jar. 

"Find a seat wherever you want. I'll bring your order to the table," Landry says. 

"Thanks." Reese turns to Graves, who stares like he's waiting for Reese to decide. "Come on, Graves. We both know you've got a regular table."

Graves looks dramatically aggrieved by the accusation, but he walks toward one of the high tables by the window.

Reese sighs. 

"We can sit elsewhere," Graves says, motioning at the other tables. 

Reese shakes his head. "Nope. Right here is fine." He grips the chair and table to haul himself up into the seat. "Ugh, tall people," he teases. 

Graves smiles, and Reese feels… a lot better. Graves goes to other places and says weird things and probably leaves outrageous tips here, too. And now that Reese considers it, Graves has been pretty heavy-handed with his compliments everywhere they've gone. He's sincere—Reese is confident of that. Still doesn't help him answer why Graves is doing this. 

"So…" Reese taps the small white flower in the jar between them. It's fake, but it's pretty. Something he'd sketch if he had some pen and paper. "You come here every day, too?"

"Often," Graves says, nodding. "Usually for breakfast."

"Do you ever just eat at home?"

Graves shakes his head, mouth taking a wry tilt. "I don't cook for myself, if that's what you mean. I'm afraid I've no head at all for culinary arts. I'm quite disastrous with anything beyond a bit of toast or reheating leftovers."

"I never could've gotten away with that," Reese says with a laugh. "My moms would have killed me if I didn't learn how to cook. I've got nothing on Mason, but I can manage well enough. And I have at least a dozen recipes that can feed six or eight people at the drop of a hat with less than ten bucks of ingredients. Comes in handy more often than you'd expect."

"I'm sure it does," Graves says.

Landry comes by with their orders, then. "Here you go, guys," he says, setting their drinks and desserts on the table.

Graves practically dives for his coffee. He takes a drink and lets out a contented sigh. "Do thank Hayes for this exquisite concoction."

"Sure thing. Is there anything else I can get for you two?" They both decline, and Landry goes back to the front counter. He says something aimed to the area behind the counter, probably passing along Graves's thanks to the barista.

Reese digs into his cake, and it is very good. He manages to keep his noises to a minimum this time. When he's about halfway through the slice, he sits back and looks at Graves.

"So. How, uh, how did you know I liked that pair of shoes best?" he asks, gesturing at the bag by Graves's feet.

"Through simple observation of body language," Graves says, drumming long fingers against the sides of his coffee cup. "Your stride was much more relaxed in them compared to the other two pairs."

And of course he was watching close enough to notice that. Reese half expects Graves to ask about his freak-out in return, but for once Graves isn't looking at him, staring into his coffee instead, and Reese gets the sense that he knows what caused it. Putting shoes on your… friend? who's perfectly capable of doing it for themselves isn't exactly a common social activity.

Reese takes another bite of cake and ponders how to bring up the rest of it. They need to talk about this situation now, or the rest of the day—if there is a rest of the day—is going to keep being uncomfortable and weird. He takes a sip of his root beer and clears his throat. Maybe he just needs to start talking.

"Okay. So I get that all this is kind of just you doing you," he says slowly, eyes on his plate, "but can I ask why? You deflected last time, and this is… maybe not such a big deal for you. Your life is obviously on a different level than mine. But this is, y'know, a pretty big deal for me. I don't understand why you're doing this for me, or with me, or whatever."

"Both," Graves says. When Reese glances up from his plate, he adds, "For you _and_ with you." He pauses again, looking out the window as he leans back in his seat, continuing to tap his fingers against his mug. 

"Right," Reese says slowly, "but why?" 

Graves nods. Reese uses his own observational skills to watch Graves's chest rise and then fall. And has no idea what it means or what Graves is thinking. 

"How shall I put this?" Graves says, mostly to himself. He goes still a second but then turns to face Reese. "Or better yet, how can I assure you this is not, for me, ephemeral? Shall I start with the first day I stepped into the cafe, hoping for a quick, easy meal after a harried morning?"

Reese ducks his head, mildly embarrassed because he remembers Graves walking in—hard not to notice a guy with eyes that are different colors—but he can't remember too many details past that and the surprisingly big tip Graves had left. 

Graves hums, nodding as he continues, "You'd been run ragged, too, moreso given the demands of your vocation. Yet you turned to me, and when our eyes met, we shared a quiet moment of commiseration. Ah, but then it could have been just as likely that you'd been shocked to see the condition of my eyes." He gestures at them, blinks. "What other moment could encapsulate the why of this?" He hums and tilts his head. "Perhaps more telling was the way you assisted an elderly woman by paying for her meal when she'd shared her financial woes and your shock to discover she'd left you a sizeable tip, teary-eyed with the exceptional kindness in such a moment. Or perhaps it is the quieter, simpler moments when I've glimpsed you sketching on your order pad with that furrow between your brow." Graves's eyes crinkle with his smile. "Or perhaps still, all the things I've had the pleasure of learning about you and all the things you've chosen to share with me."

"This is—" Reese doesn't even know what to say and huffs a nervous laugh as he rubs the back of his neck. 

"I apologize for causing you discomfort. While it was never my intention, its effects are clear. Even now, I prevaricate." Graves sighs and shakes his head, gaze fixed on Reese again. "Allow me to make clear this matter." He slides a hand across the table but stops, retreating with it and wrapping it around his mug. "I do not hope to win your favor for a fleeting victory. If this day goes well, I hope you will offer me the pleasure of your company again and again, beyond our brief contact at Pixie's Kitchen. That all of this"—Graves gestures at the shoes, the cafe, an all-encompassing motion with his hand—"are my pursuits for your company and perhaps, in time, your affection."

It takes Reese a minute to sort through all the archaic language, but when it hits him what Graves is saying, his heart rate shoots up. "You want to d-date? Me?"

"Such an inadequate word for such breadth of want," Graves murmurs, "but in simple terms, yes, I wish to date you."

Reese wants to ask again, why him, why not someone closer to Graves's age, someone with their life together instead of a struggling waiter? But didn't Graves say earlier, why does anyone like who they like? It's going to take a while to wrap his head around it all.

"I don't expect an answer yet, of course," Graves says when Reese doesn't respond. "You need time to process. And there are other matters to be negotiated, in a less public setting."

"Other matters?" Reese asks weakly. He can only think of one thing about a new relationship that would need to be negotiated in private.

It's Graves's turn to flush pink. "Ah, I—Forgive my poor wording. I didn't mean to imply anything of a salacious nature. Though that is something I find best discussed in frank and open conversation, as well. It is vital that all parties involved be aware of one another's expectations and limitations."

Seeing Graves flustered is the new highlight of Reese's day. First, that he can manage to rock Graves off his axis and second… That he can rock Graves off his axis, so he's not entirely alone in this flustered, blushing mess of feelings. 

"So when are we going to do all of this talking?" Reese asks. 

Graves clears his throat, nodding. "I suppose that entirely depends on you. As I said, I want to give you time to process everything we've discussed thus far and… further assess your feelings about today, of course. And, if you prefer, I can limit my appearance at Pixie's Kitchen so as not to add any additional stress to your day or unduly influence your decision."

"I think it might actually be weirder if you didn't come in every day," Reese says, drawing the edge of his fork through a smear of frosting on his plate. "I don't, um, I don't want to just _not_ see you."

"Then I shall dutifully maintain my routine."

Reese puts down his fork and reaches for his glass, taking a long drink while he considers everything else. "We'll go to the show. I mean, you've already put all this effort into all of it, and I do want to go. And dinner after?"

"Of course, anything you like. I quite misstepped in planning the day so extensively without your input."

"The place you mentioned before is fine? I mean, if you've already gone to the trouble of making a reservation." He can see in Graves's eyes that he did, in fact, already make the reservation. He huffs a laugh. "We can maybe do some of the talking after that. It'll give us both some time to think things through."

Graves nods, smile small as he looks at Reese. "Thank you," he says. 

"Hey, we're both adults," Reese says, sharing his own smile. "We can talk these things out."

"Indeed," Graves agrees with a hum. 

~*~

Reese is about to glance at his phone to check the time as they walk into the gallery, but then he's just sort of dumbstruck by the sculptures, tall, gleaming abstract pieces arranged around the room, but also hanging from the ceiling. With the colorful, abstract paintings adorning the walls, it's like stepping into some weird alternate universe. 

Reese shakes himself out of it to see that Graves has left him to talk with the gallery owner maybe? Or one of the artists. 

Curiosity winning out, Reese moves closer to the wall to take a look at the placard—

His mouth drops open. But there it is: A Cat's Paw, bronze sculpture by Graves Serling. Reese rattles his brain but he's confident Graves never said this was _his_ art opening. Does he paint, too? Reese immediately walks over to a triptych and exhales, relieved to see a different name on the placard. 

He glances at Graves, who's still occupied, so he heads back to the sculpture. He wants to touch it, an urge that he suppresses, instead leaning closer. How does anyone even _sculpt_ metal like this? Reese can't see rivets or overlapping layers. It's all so sleek and smooth that he can almost make out his reflection. 

He steps back and moves on to view another sculpture. This seems to explain why Graves has so much money, at least. Why he doesn't blink at spending more on a suit than Reese makes in three months. And the suit is beautiful. As loath as Reese was—still is—to accept it, he has to admit that it's an impressive piece of craftsmanship. It was lovely off the rack, but now that it's been tailored to fit Reese precisely, he can't help but agree with the breathy sigh of "stunning" Graves had let out when Reese put it on.

"I do not mean to abandon you—"

Reese jumps, whipping around to face Graves.

"My—"

"Nope, it's okay," Reese says, laughing it off. "A little too tuned into my head. And you should've told me this was your art opening!"

Graves smiles. "It must have slipped my mind."

"Liar."

He chuckles, nodding. "I don't mean to abandon you at the start of the evening, but I have obligations."

"And probably a ton of fans," Reese teases. "I'll be fine. I'll mingle. Look at the art. Use big, fancy art words like abstract and pointillism."

Graves raises his hand but only rests it on his own chest. "Gathering a sizeable crowd that hangs on each exquisite word. I shall endeavor to check in with you at the top of the hour."

"It's okay, Graves. Really. You're working. I get it." Reese's grin widens. "I get to see you in action this time."

"I hope I am nearly as graceful," Graves says, gaze flicking behind Reese. 

He turns and sees the crowd gather, a line of well-dressed people, some of whom beeline for Graves. Reese steps aside with a grin and goes back to admiring Graves's sculptures and Anna Chang's paintings. It's a lot to take in—for the sheer size but also the depth of color. Anna Chang also uses texture in an interesting way, and Reese can't tell if it's paint or mixed media until he looks at the placards offering some insight into each piece. 

It feels like midway through the event but it's only a half hour since open that the owner tinks a wine glass to get everyone's attention. The room falls into a hushed silence, and it's the usual welcome, the history of the gallery, what an honor it is to feature two brilliant artists. Reese's grin grows and grows as he watches Graves in the spotlight. He steps forward when he's introduced. 

"This, too, is my honor. To introduce a visionary. As you can see from her work, Anna Chang does more than paint. She transports us. She elevates us to imagine a richer, more robust world. Her paintings and mixed media pieces have moved me since I first had the pleasure of meeting her years ago. Please, join me in applauding her insight and her brilliance." 

Anna Chang shakes her head, covering her face with her hands. She lowers them to glare affectionately at Graves and then hugs him, squeezing him tight. 

"Graves is… too much. I think we can all agree, right?"

A few people raise their glasses to that, and Reese tries really hard not to double over laughing. 

"But." She slides her arm into his and tugs him close. "I'm grateful to be here tonight, opening this show with him. When we first met, like me, he was trying to find his way in the world. I'm not sure we've found it, but I've learned that's okay. And that's what inspires my newest collection. It's about journeys. For me, that's my journey as an immigrant, as an artist, even my rocky journey into adulthood. So thank you for having me here tonight to share this with you. Please enjoy the show."

Reese's heart thuds as the crowd disperses. He stands in the middle of it to collect his breath and then walks over to a corner. He relates so hard, he realizes, and finds his phone in his hand before he's given it conscious thought. He wishes he had the minutes so he could call his moms. 

He glances up at the paintings. Probably can't take pictures but… He grabs one of Anna Chang's business cards and texts, _At an art show. You'd love it_ , and sends his moms the website with some heart emojis in the group text.

Mom texts back first with, _Love you!!!_ Along with a series of fireworks emojis. 

It makes Reese chuckle. 

_Call?_ she texts.

His smile tightens at the corners. _Can't. Out of minutes._

_That's okay. We love you, love you, love you!_

Reese sends a heart emoji and slips his phone back in his pocket, taking a deep, slow breath. Graves is still mingling, so Reese turns to look at all the art again, getting pulled into a couple of conversations about the pieces and the artists but slipping away easily enough to make his own quiet circuit around the room. 

As the night wind downs, he looks up to find Graves's eyes tracking him before Graves seems to excuse himself and heads right toward Reese. Graves is single-minded in his stare and his approach. Reese's heart picks up speed the closer Graves gets, but Graves stops within arm's reach and extends a hand, unfurling his fingers as he offers Reese his open palm. 

"Shall we away?" Graves asks. 

Reese laughs, shaking his head, and plops his hand into Graves's. "Ready if you are."

Graves tugs him closer like he might kiss Reese's face or his hand, but when neither happens, it leaves Reese reeling a second, smile quick and a little too forced as he follows Graves's lead out the door. 

"I do apologize for not being able to spend more time with you," Graves says once they're in the car, "but did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yeah," Reese breathes a little too quickly. He clears his throat. "Yeah, it was amazing. I didn't know you did anything like that. I mean, I don't know if I understand all of it, but it's so… evocative."

"As Picasso said, 'The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.'" Graves says, gesturing dramatically as he reaches to hit the turn signal. "To find resonance with the soul of a work is of far greater importance than academic understanding."

That makes sense, Reese thinks. Art that didn't draw an emotional response wouldn't have much of a point, after all. He briefly thinks about his own small sketches but pushes that thought aside. 

"So how long have you been sculpting?"

The corner of Graves's mouth tilts into a smile. "To avoid the risk of dating myself, I shall simply say a great many years."

Reese snorts; he should've known. He flashes the program he'd tucked in his pocket earlier. "I know it was probably in the artist bio, but I thought I would take advantage of getting it straight from the source instead of through marketing spin."

"Oh," Graves murmurs, sounding pleased and a little surprised. "Shall we conduct an interview to satisfy your curiosity?"

"I don't think we have to go that far right now. We have time, right?"

The sidelong look Graves gives him burns in his core.

"We have all the time you wish." Graves drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "I suppose I should give you a proper answer, then, shouldn't I? I took up sculpture in college, which I am often quite surprised to realize was already twenty years ago. How time does fly…"

Reese swallows a sound of distress and passes it off as clearing his throat. Shit, he'd obviously known Graves is older than him, but he's _twice_ Reese's age. He was in college before Reese was even born. "Why metal?" he asks to distract himself.

"I come from much humbler origins than my current circumstances suggest. I was salvaging scrap metal for a living during my schooling, and I discovered something of an affinity for it as a medium."

"Wait. Salvaging like—" Reese twists in his seat to stare at Graves. "To pay for school?"

Graves nods. "It proved interesting, both texturally and visually." He frowns a moment. "I do so wish more people would touch it, but galleries often discourage the practice. With good reason, of course, but…" Graves gestures with his hand, as if he's shaping one of his sculptures in the air right now, and he looks at Reese. "Touch reveals so much more than simply looking. Intent, emotion, technique, skill—they all gain depth when one can feel the medium as the artist felt it. What tragedy that an integral sensory experience becomes lost in pursuit of longevity."

He sounds so sincere and honestly regretful about it that Reese almost reaches out to take his hand, but Graves pulls it back to the steering wheel as he makes a turn. Instead, Reese asks, "Have you ever done an outdoor installation? Something that people would be allowed to touch?"

"Not since college, unfortunately. I have long wished to do so again, but it has proven rather difficult to create the opportunity locally." Graves swings into a tiny parking lot and parks them near the back. "That, however, is a discussion best left for another time, as we have arrived."

They get out of the car, and Reese follows Graves up to an unassuming brick building that simply says _Badem_ over the door in red lettering. When they step inside, Reese finds a surprisingly intimate space. Although there are a lot of tables, the arrangement sections them off so that only a few remain in sight of one another at a time. The decor is largely red and gold, and everything is lit by clusters of colorful mosaic lanterns dangling overhead. A woman in a sapphire blue dress and a matching hijab shows them to a two-top booth under a small chandelier of blue and green lanterns.

"Wow," is all Reese can think to say. 

He tears his gaze away from the lanterns to look at Graves, who's smiling. Of course. Reese flips open the menu, pointedly trying not to look at the prices, even though he can't stop his attention from drifting there as he scans the menu. 

"So what do you recommend?" he asks. 

Graves hums, tapping the table with one slim finger as he glances from the menu to Reese and back to the menu again. "I am partial to their börek, myself. If you like lamb, however, I have been assured that their köfte is exceptional."

"I love lamb," Reese says, reading over the descriptions for the dishes Graves mentioned. "Mom makes a really great rogan josh—I haven't had it in forever. Maman always texts me when they have it to remind me I should come home."

A waiter appears at Graves's side then to bring them water and take their orders. Graves gets spinach börek and a coffee, and Reese goes with the köfte. Once the waiter is gone, Graves turns his attention back to Reese.

"You always speak so fondly of your mothers. Do you visit them often?" he asks.

Reese shakes his head. "Not as much as I should, but it's hard since I don't have a car. I have to ask off work and either find someone here to give me a ride or plan it for days that one of my moms can drive me."

And it sucks so hard, because he does want to see them more, but even if he had a car he wouldn't be able to afford gas. So he deals. They mostly text, and call when he can afford minutes for his phone, and they try to do family Skype calls once a month. It's not ideal, but it's something.

"Such a shame," Graves says, frowning slightly. "I've never been close with my family, but I imagine it's quite frustrating to be separated by circumstance rather than by choice."

"That's one way of putting it."

"In the future, however, please know that I will gladly assist you in obtaining transport for your visits." Graves looks away for a moment and a tiny, nervous smile quirks his mouth. "Regardless of your decision, I do hope you will accept such gestures of friendship."

Reese almost forgot they still need to have that conversation. After dinner, though. 

He grins, both at Graves's offer and to set Graves at ease. "Thanks. That'd be—" He interrupts himself with a laugh. "Sorry. Just thought about you and my moms." 

"Oh?" 

Reese nods. "Yeah. If you love Mason's cooking, my mom's gonna blow you away."

Graves smiles, leaning closer. "It sounds delightful."

Reese nods. "Yeah. All of us in the kitchen chopping and taste testing." It sounds so nice that he sighs with the thought of it. "Maybe…" He fiddles with his phone, wondering if it's too soon to invite Graves over. Meeting the parents is always kind of a big deal, and he really needs to get minutes on his phone so he can just call his mom and hash out all his feelings. "I dunno. Maybe we can talk about it. After our other talk. Talks? Kind of sounded like there was more than one."

Graves hums, nodding. "Potentially. I certainly don't want to hinder the natural course of whatever conversations we may have."

The conversation hits a lull, and Reese finds himself picking at the edge of his napkin. If they were at the diner, he'd have a pile of paper shreds on the table in no time. He's searching for something else to say when a woman's excited voice and a smattering of quiet applause filters over from one of the other sections.

"A successful proposal, it seems," Graves says. "Perhaps an auspicious portent?"

Reese manages a slight nod and a, "maybe so." He shifts his nervous fidgeting from the napkin to running his thumbnail along the side of his index finger, hands clasped under the table. He focuses on the sensation, the steady back and forth motion of it. 

He's relieved when their food finally arrives, and it smells amazing. He grins at Graves across the table, and Graves hasn't even taken a single bite before he's pushing his plate toward Reese. 

"You're welcome to try some of mine."

Reese flushes, ducking his head. "That doesn't seem fair," he murmurs, glancing down at his köfte. 

"Nonsense. This is about the experience, the richness of the meal, the excitement of trying something new. Or something familiar, as it were."

"Okay, okay," Reese laughs, about to reach across the table. He stops, frowning as he tries to figure out whether to dig in or carefully slide a small portion onto his own plate. There's not much room on his plate, though. Maybe he should ask the server for a plate? 

While he's trying to figure it out, Graves takes Reese's fork, cuts a decent bite, and then extends his arm. Oh god, is Graves going to…? Before he's even finished the thought, Graves places the fork in Reese's hand, fingertips drifting over Reese's skin a beat longer as he draws his hand away. 

Reese clears his throat and takes the bite. It is very good, from the flaky layers of dough to the soft cheese and spinach, and the herbs giving it complexity. He definitely tastes dill, and something else… Graves shifts across from him, and Reese realizes he has his eyes closed. He opens them in time to see Graves swallow hard even though he hasn't touched his food. Those arresting eyes are dark and intent, focused on Reese.

"That's really nice," Reese says once he's swallowed his mouthful. "Thanks for letting me try it."

"Of course," Graves replies, tugging his plate back into place and picking up his own fork.

The conversation dies down as they eat. Graves tucks into his börek with a pleased sigh, and Reese concentrates on eating his köfte neatly, overly conscious of the fact that he drops food on himself at the worst times and not wanting to ruin his suit with yogurt sauce. The light, minty sauce is perfect for the köfte, and the soft flatbread makes him miss his mom's fresh roti.

Reese is less bothered by their silence than he expected. It's more a comfortable sharing of space than an awkward break in socializing, and it gives him the opportunity to fully enjoy his meal. By the time he's cleared his plate, Graves is done and sipping at his second tiny cup of coffee that the waiter had discreetly brought when he collected Graves's empty plate. Reese sits back with a satisfied hum.

"That was so good," Reese says as the waiter appears out of nowhere to whisk his plate away.

The man also leaves a small dish of something that must be sweets dusted in sugar, and he places the check by Graves with a quiet assurance that there's no rush.

Graves thanks the man and gestures to the dish. "Lokum?" he asks Reese. "It's quite a lovely finish to a meal. You might be more familiar with it as Turkish Delight."

"I've heard of that, but I've never gotten to try it." Reese reaches for a pale green piece packed with nuts and slips it in his mouth. He's greeted by the soft, somewhat jelly-ish texture of the sweet and the crunch of pistachios, and he can't stop the little moan he makes. "Wow, that's so nice."

"Have as much as you like," Graves says, giving Reese a smile over his coffee cup. He selects a single pink piece for himself before nudging the dish in Reese's direction.

Reese reaches for a pink one as well this time, which turns out to be rose flavored. The delicate taste is pleasantly familiar. While maman usually takes charge of desserts in their house, favoring pastry, mom has always been fond of rose flavored sweets and makes different ones every year for Holi. He wonders if she's had this before, if maybe he could bring some to her next time he visits. It would be a splurge, but worth it.

He notices Graves staring again while he's trying to figure out how to squeeze his budget, and he grins, heaving one of those satisfied sighs that only comes after a great meal. 

"Thanks. Thank you," he says. 

"The pleasure is entirely mine." 

"Hey, we're definitely sharing it," Reese counters, grinning when Graves looks startled but so happy that his face shines with it. 

"The pleasure is ours then," Graves amends. He pulls a slim wallet out of the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and extracts his credit card. The waiter zips by the second Graves sets it inside the check folder, and it seems like he's back in a flash as Reese savors the last piece of lokum. Graves signs off on the receipt and tucks his card away again.

Reese rubs his palms, suddenly clammy, against his pants legs. "So, um, should we get going? N-not that I'm trying to rush or anything."

"No, I agree. There are still matters at hand, and it will serve us well to make efficient use of our evening."

Graves stands and straightens his jacket, and Reese follows suit. They make their way out to the car, and Graves drives them back to Reese's apartment. Reese brings him up and lets him in, locking the door behind them.

"I think I'm gonna change and put my stuff up," he says, gesturing with the bag holding his clothes and shoes from this morning. "I have a feeling this is something I'm gonna want to get comfortable for. Do you need anything while I'm up?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you." Graves takes a seat on the couch on the same end as before.

Reese retreats to his bedroom and tosses his clothes at the hamper before he starts undressing. Both pairs of shoes go in front of the closet, and he trades his new dress socks for a pair of house socks because the apartment is a little cool. He lays the suit jacket out on the bed, then the shirt, then the pants, and slips into a pair of lounge pants and a hoodie. Tipping his head back, eyes closed, he takes a deep breath and blows it out. This is weird and kind of scary, but he can do this. He can have an adult-ass conversation with the man who wants to date him.

_The Husband of the Fourth Girl_ and _The Flight of the Enchantress_ did not prepare him for this.

He goes back out into the living room and sees that Graves has taken off his suit jacket, too. The soft lighting of the lamp on the end table is a point of familiarity and eases some of the tension in Reese's body. He sits on this couch all the time, with this lamp on, just living his life. This is probably exactly why Graves brought him home for this in the first place, actually.

Reese takes the opposite end of the couch and sits cross-legged, facing Graves. "Okay," he says, "let's go."

Graves hums with a short nod, tapping his finger on the arm of the couch. Reese waits. And waits. He knows Graves is gathering his thoughts, probably preparing an entire speech in his head, but the longer the silence stretches, the antsier Reese gets. 

"Dating," he blurts. "You said you wanted to date me, right?"

Graves's gaze flicks toward him but then away again as Graves nods. "In simple terms, yes."

"You want me to say court?" Reese teases, immediately grinning when Graves's mouth twitches into a smile. 

"The term is more… felicitous regarding my intentions."

"So what does that mean for you?" Most of what Reese knows about courtship comes from historical romance novels, which are of… varying and questionable accuracy. At home, all he ever saw were the end results when mom did bridal makeup and maman photographed weddings.

Graves crosses his legs and folds his hands over his knee. "As I said, I desire your company. In truth, I… have a very selfish wish to spend a great deal of time with you."

"That's normal when people start dating someone they like, though. It's not like you're asking to lock me up in your basement or anything," Reese says. "At least, I hope not. What kind of stuff do you want to do with that time?"

"Some structured time, much like today. Meals, outings, attending events." Graves pauses, hesitates. "And some informal time, as well."

"Sooo." Reese motions between them. "Like this. Or um." He can feel his cheeks heat and ducks his head. "Well. You know." 

When he glances up, Graves nods, still not looking at him, which is good, because Reese kind of feels like he's done nothing but blush all day. They fall silent again, and Reese… He studies Graves's profile, follows Graves's gaze down to his hands, where they're still curled tight around his knee. He shifts, just testing the waters, and Graves's gaze skirts his way but doesn't really look. Like earlier when there was nothing but Graves's intense stare. 

"Hey, do you… maybe want to watch a movie? I can make…" Reese frowns as he glances at his kitchen, eyes narrowing while he tries to figure out what he's got. "I think I have some hot cocoa? Some soda, I think? I definitely have water. No popcorn, though."

When he turns back, Graves is staring right at him, smiling, and Reese can't help but grin back, faltering when Graves looks away again. 

"A movie, hm?" Graves asks. 

Reese nods. "What do you like?" He laughs. "Wait, wait, let me guess. Artful indie flicks? Or are you secretly into slapstick comedy?"

"Every genre has its particular charms, I suppose," Graves says, "but I am most fond of horror. I find a certain catharsis in controlled doses of fear."

"The most horror I usually go for is _Shaun of the Dead_. I like being able to sleep," Reese teases.

Graves hums. "Perhaps an activity best left for another day, then. I would hate to keep you from your rest on a work night. Did you have any suggestions?"

"Not really? I just thought it might make things more relaxed," Reese says. "We could pick one together? Or we could not watch anything and just keep talking."

Graves lets out a breath that isn't quite a sigh. "Perhaps it would be best to continue talking, or I fear I will never say what I mean to say."

"Okay," Reese agrees softly, shifting a little closer. "I mean, we covered the basic dating part. So… it's more complicated than that for you? Because I'm good with that part, you know. It's fine if we start with that and get into the other parts later."

"No, I want to be clear in the scope of my intentions from the beginning. Past experience has taught me nothing if not the importance of all parties' full awareness of terms in such arrangements." Graves presses a hand to his mouth for a long moment, then runs it over his face in frustration. "How much simpler it all would be if you had not proven to be an extraordinary specimen. So many others would be content to carry on as a spoiled pet at the first hint of money, but you… you exceed my expectations at every turn."

An ugly feeling settles into Reese's stomach. "Graves…"

"I am well aware that it is an unhealthy basis for a relationship, just as I am aware that I am something of an acquired taste. There comes a point when one learns to take what one can get," he says, no bitterness in his tone, only tired acceptance.

The feeling unfolds into a deep ache in Reese's chest, and he throws himself at Graves, wrapping his arms tight around him. Graves makes a small noise of surprise, and he returns the embrace with tentative, trembling hands. They press into Reese's back like he's not sure he's allowed.

"You don't have to do anything special to get me to like you, you know?" Reese says into Graves's shoulder. "Because I already do. And you deserve not to settle for people who can't see how much of a nerd you are and like that part of you too."

Graves's chest jumps, then shakes, and Reese pulls back. Shit, did he make Graves cry? But the silent shakes turn into a low, quiet chuckle, and Reese sags into him again.

"Extraordinary," Graves murmurs.

"I'm just me," Reese protests.

"And who you are is extraordinary." Graves lets out a breath, and fixes Reese with an intent gaze. "If you will allow me, I will do my utmost to ensure your happiness. To do so, however, it is of vital importance that you have boundaries with me. I do regret pushing you uncomfortably today to meet my own agenda without your input, and I hope not to do so again. You must take some time to consider what is impermissible between us, emotionally and physically, and I will do the same. Then we can set clear terms together."

Reese nods. "Okay."

They fall silent. Just long enough for Reese to wonder if he should say something right now. But Graves raises a hand. 

"I'd prefer to give you some time to truly ruminate. Perhaps at next week's end, we can reconvene."

Reese is about to nod but stops, staring at Graves. "And you're not just going to up and vanish, right? You'll still come to Pixie's?"

Graves lowers his hand, his smile small. Like he might call Reese extraordinary again. "I am more than happy to maintain my routine until you expressly tell me to stop."

"Yeah, okay then." Reese grins. "Do you mind if I plan our second date?"

Graves looks caught off guard by the suggestion but nods. "Ah, how you continue to surprise me, Reese."

For a second, Reese wonders if they're going to kiss. He can sort of see it happen in his head, Graves reaching over and setting a hand on his, Reese leaning in for it. Reese lowers his eyes, and when he looks at Graves again, the moment's broken.

Graves lets out a soft sigh and pushes himself up off the couch. Reese stands, too, and finds them closer than he anticipated when Graves turns to face him.

"I should take my leave, lest I outstay my welcome," Graves says softly, like he doesn't want to at all.

Reese nods dumbly. "I'll walk you to the door," he says, even though the door is only ten feet away. He feels every inch the nervous teenager he is, like standing on his parents' doorstep with a pimply soccer player after his first date when he was fifteen instead of standing in his own apartment after being whisked around town for a lavish evening with a wealthy artist.

Graves shrugs back into his jacket and lets Reese lead him to the foyer. He, at least, seems to have contained any nerves he has left into an internal freakout.

"Thank you, for tonight," Reese says, reaching out to unfasten the door chain. "I had a good time."

"And thank you for indulging a foolish man's selfish whims." He takes Reese's hand from where it's hovering awkwardly over the deadbolt and bends to press his lips to the dip between Reese's knuckles, just for a second. He straightens with a smile. "Until tomorrow."

Reese nods slowly, body on autopilot as his brain tries to process anything beyond shrieks of excitement. "Yeah, see you tomorrow."

He lets Graves out and locks the door behind him, counting out the seconds it should take for him to get to the stairs before slumping against the closet and muffling a giddy laugh in his hands.

Holy shit, he's gonna have a boyfriend.


End file.
